Kisses

 

Golden September, he thought,

I’ll take her to the park, buy her a coffee,

maybe declaim some verses, tell her

a funny story, true or not, who cares? Tell her

how beautiful she is in the rose afternoon sun light

The fact is that for seven endless years

I haven’t kissed a woman. How can I tell her,

please let yourself kiss by this man you hardly know.

Don’t worry, just close your eyes if you think I’m too ugly,

my skin to wrinkled and my breath too muddy

See, I did not choose a young girl to take to the park today,

preferring your vanishing beauty, if I may say so.

Don’t ask me whether the stories I tell you are true or not.

(Of course they are not – and you know well!)

Please, just let yourself be kissed  by the hungry lips of a man

who knows there is not much time left

Call it love or horniness or, even more true, fear of death,

call it however you want, but please,

let yourself kiss,

for old enough you are to know that there is more than one reason to kiss.

Or let’s even put it this way: do we really need a reason to kiss?

Look, golden September around. Did I not choose the right season,

trying very hard to be what once we considered romantic?

Believe me, if I had a more exciting kiss to offer, I would. But I have not.

This harsh, desperate tongue is all what is left of me.

I beg you, do not refuse it.

Please understand that I’m just trying to stay alive.

Alive.

 

Stefanie Golisch

La foto è di Diane Arbus